


Intermissions and Interludes

by Shaples



Series: Grand Pas de Deux [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaples/pseuds/Shaples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots from the "Grand Pas de Deux" universe featuring alternate POV characters, some of the background relationships, and a healthy dose of friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bedside

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble takes place several months before the events of Grand Pas de Deux, and contains some context (and spoilers) for [Chapter 5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4407449/chapters/10385577). RinxSousuke, tags for Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and a little bit of blood.

_It should have been me._

It was the only thought in Rin’s head, and it repeated over and over.

_It should have been me. It should have been me. Itshouldhavebeenme._

He thought it again and again, in time with the electronic beeps of Sousuke’s pulse monitor, each one like the lash of a whip. If he’d taken the job like Sousuke had wanted him to, if they’d been working together, he would have been there, would have been by his side, could have pushed him out of the way, jumped in the path of the bullet. Something. Anything but this.

Sousuke was so pale, fragile and sunken in a way that clawed at Rin’s insides, tubes and wires winding out of him like awful parasites. The one that fed him air, the one that fed him blood, the one that fed him liquid, the one that fed him something for the pain, the ones that made sure he was alive still, no matter how tenuously.

The doctors said that he would wake up.

He was going to wake up.

But he hadn’t woken up.

Rin wanted to take Sousuke’s hand, to wrap him in his arms and protect him even now that it was too late, but his body was bound by bandages and tubes and wires, and _god_ Rin didn’t want to hurt him more, but he had to do _something_.

He slid out of his chair, shaking, and leaned closer to Sousuke’s hospital bed. He braced his hands on the railing and leaned down, touched his lips to the thick bandage holding Sousuke’s shoulder together. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. _Itshouldhavebeenme_. He kissed again, feather light, “Please wake up.” _Itshouldhavebeenme_. Again, like a benediction. “I’msosorry.” Kiss. _Itshouldhavebeenme_. Kiss. “Pleasewakeup.” Kiss. _Itshouldhavebeenme_.

It was everything he could do to keep the tears streaming down his face from soaking the bandages.

Then, a breath, sucked in through ragged lungs, and suddenly Sousuke’s hand was anchored in Rin’s hair, his voice dry and wasted as he whispered, “Rin.”  

And it really felt like a miracle, seeing those turquoise eyes open again.

Rin choked on a sob, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Sousuke’s, desperation and gratitude and relief and apology, and he whimpered when Sousuke leaned into him, tightened his fingers in his hair, and _kissed him back_. His mouth tasted like blood, but his kiss felt like a drowning man fighting for air, need so sharp it could cut.

Then Sousuke let out a strangled, pained cry, falling backwards into the hospital bed.

“Ohmygod,” Rin whispered, hands hovering, unsure where to touch, where to avoid, what to do, “Sousuke, I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, I’ll find someone to-” but when Rin reached up to cup Sousuke’s cheek in his palm, his friend whimpered.

“Don’t go. Please.”

And Rin was crying too hard to answer, but he nodded and leaned down to kiss Sousuke’s shoulder again. “I’m here,” he choked out, then, “You’re _alive_.” And it didn’t matter that Sousuke had drifted off again, pulled under by the pain and the painkillers, that he wouldn’t remember any of this days or weeks from now, because he’d woken up. He was alive. He was going to live.

When Rin drew back, he saw that blood had seeped through Sousuke’s bandage in almost the perfect shape of his lips.


	2. Sketch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one shot takes place about a week after the events of Chapter 5, when Makoto finally musters the courage to let Haru draw him and goes to his apartment for their promised modeling session. HaruxMakoto, tagged for fluff, fluff, and more fluff. Bonus ReixNagisa cameo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a "quick" "short" "little" one shot that I wrote to cheer myself up while I was sick, but, well, you all know by now how well that goes.

The instructions for how to get to Haru’s apartment seemed needlessly complicated right up until Makoto parked across the street from the building. The old Victorian house was massive, more mansion than anything, with a sprawling wraparound porch, entrances on all four sides, and a latticework of rickety looking wooden staircases running up from the garden to narrow balconies on the second and third floors. There was a buzzer on the front door, but Haru had informed him that it didn’t work, so Makoto made his way around to the left side entrance and, as instructed, twisted the knob, pulled up, and pushed the door with his shoulder. The doorframe creaked with the protest of slightly warped wood and old paint, but the door popped open.

The side entrance had probably once led to a living area of some sort, but it had been walled off into a narrow hallway that led back to the grand staircase at the front of the building. Like the rest of the house, the stairwell had seen better days – the steps were steep and creaked underfoot, but the effect was still impressive. The second floor was a maze of doors and hallways, some marked, others painted shut, and Makoto was suddenly very glad he’d written down Haru’s instructions. Take a right, then the second left. Green door, kick the bottom corner. Follow the servant staircase up, then head left to the end of the hall and the door marked 3-C.

Makoto raised a hand to knock. Hesitated. Straightened his shirt, cleared his throat, then tapped the brass knocker three times and took a step back.

Haru opened the door a moment later, a faint smile on his lips, “Hey, you found me.”

Haru was wearing a slim fitting buttoned v-neck shirt, buttons unbuttoned, long sleeves pushed up along his forearms – perfectly casual, but also the perfect shade of blue to set off his sapphire eyes. Makoto smiled despite himself, ducking his head bashfully, “I may have taken notes.”

“Well, Nagisa has yet to make it past the second floor without a guide, so you’re ahead of the crowd,” Haru said, taking a step back and opening the door a little wider. “Come in?”

“Right, thank you. Pardon the intrusion,” Makoto said, stepping inside. The apartment was much like Nagisa had described it – an old Victorian library usurped by two art students with good taste and a shoestring budget. Makoto toed off his shoes, adding them to the neat line that stretched to one side of the doorway.

“You can leave your coat on the rack,” Haru said. “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Makoto said, shrugging out of his jacket.

“You sure? We might be at it for a while.”

“Er, right,” he said, hanging his coat neatly up on one of the empty hooks on the rack beside the door before turning back to Haru, “Maybe some water, then?”

Haru headed deeper into the house, waving for Makoto to follow him. “I have tea, hot or iced, coffee hot or iced…” Haru led him into the kitchen, then opened the refrigerator and peered down into it, “Uh, what is this? Sparkling grapefruit juice? I think we have half a bottle of wine, milk, beer?”

Makoto puffed out a nervous little laugh, “I’d take a beer.”

Haru nodded, pulling out two bottles and cracking them open on the countertop before passing one to Makoto.

“So, how do we…? Uhm, I mean, I’ve never really…”

“Follow me,” Haru said, leading him back out of the kitchen, past a few closed doors and into – no, _through_ the bathroom. “Sorry,” Haru said, pushing open the door on the other side, “Old house.”

“Right,” Makoto said. The studio was lovely, even more of an eclectic mish-mash than the rest of the house, with various art supplies covering every surface – notebooks and paints, pens and brushes and pencils, palettes and swathes of fabric. There were chairs and stools scattered throughout the room, along with several easels and two large draft tables, and the space smelled pleasantly of paint and craft glue. “This is nice,” Makoto said, turning slowly and taking in both the works-in-progress and the finished pieces hanging on the walls.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Haru said. “Rei gets fussy when I move things.”

Makoto laughed, “At least you don’t have to go far to wash up.”

Haru let out a little breath that Makoto was pretty sure was a laugh. “It could be worse. One of the other units in this building, their front and back doors both lead directly into a bathroom.”

“You’re kidding.”

Haru shook his head, “Five people live in that one. They get locked out a lot.”

Makoto put a hand to his mouth and chuckled, “I don’t think I could stand it.”

“I can put up with a lot for how little I pay in rent,” Haru said. “Rei’s genuinely crazy about this place, though. If there’s a lull in the conversation, he’ll start talking your ear off about the architecture until you get up and walk out of the room.”

Makoto let out a surprised little laugh, “That’s terrible!”

“It is. Especially when you took the same architecture class in college.”

Makoto was about to object that he’d meant it wasn’t nice of Haru to say so, but when he caught Haru’s wry, almost impish little smile, he realized he hadn’t been misunderstood at all, which made another laugh bubble out of him unbidden. “You two must be really close.”

Haru gave a small nod, rifling through the supplies on one of the desks, “We make up for each other’s shortcomings.” Makoto was about to ask what he meant by that when Haru said, “You can go ahead and sit down wherever’s comfortable. I’ll just be a second.”

Makoto scanned the room. The chairs were a combination of adjustable stools, hand-me-down arm chairs, mis-matched dining chairs, and one elegant antique fainting couch. He was tempted by a plush-looking wingback chair upholstered in purple velvet, but when he realized he was tapping his fingertips nervously against his thigh, he knew he’d fidget if he sat on something soft, so he opted instead to perch himself on one of the tall stools, elbows rested on his knees, holding his untouched bottle of beer loosely in both hands in front of him.

“Sorry for making you come all the way out here,” Haru said, gathering up a handful of pencils and a few sticks of charcoal. “It’s hard for me to get out of work mode when I’m at the parlor, and people always stare when you draw in public.” He sat down in one of the chairs a few feet away from Makoto and flipped open his sketchbook.

“I don’t mind,” Makoto said, picking absently at the label on his beer. He’d been immediately captivated by Haru’s dry sense of humor and blunt manner; in the afternoon they’d spent together while Haru was working on Sousuke’s tattoo, Haru had said exactly what he’d meant or nothing at all. It had left Makoto on the thin line between giddy and scandalized. He still hadn’t figured out why in the world Haru would want to see _him_ again, but he wasn’t about to lose the opportunity. “So, what do you need me to…” but when he glanced up, he realized Haru was already drawing, his charcoal scritching quietly against the paper. “Er, sorry,” he said, trying to resume the pose he’d been in, but not quite sure where he’d been looking.

“It’s fine,” Haru said, the barest hint of amusement in his voice. “Tell me about yourself.”

“About me?” Makoto said, surprised. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Haru said in that deadpan way that Makoto wasn’t sure whether or not he was serious. “But we can start small. What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“Well, I don’t have many,” Makoto said. He’d specifically cleared the day when Haru had been vague about how long he wanted to spend working. “Depending on when we finish, I might go clean my apartment before work.”

“Thrilling,” Haru said.

Makoto laughed, “Honestly, I’m not terribly interesting.” Haru made a small sound, neither agreeing nor dismissing, but almost encouraging him to say more. “My younger brother and sister are coming to stay with me this weekend, actually, which is about as much excitement as I can handle,” he said, his eyes tracking the motions of Haru’s hands on the paper. “I love them to death, but they’re like a whirlwind. If I was ever that energetic, I don’t remember it.” He smiled a little, laughing to himself, “I think I probably cleared out this week to build up my mental fortifications.”

“Stay just like that,” Haru said, his voice quiet and even, like he was trying not to startle him.

Of course, Makoto couldn’t help the prickle of self-consciousness that tensed his shoulders and turned his ears pink. What was “that”? What had he done? Had he already un-done it? Was it too late to redo it?

His answer came in the form of a soft chuckle, “You’re shy.”

“I am not,” Makoto said miserably, but it was a terrible lie. “What did I do right?”

Haru just shook his head, “You smiled.”

“I…” Makoto huffed. “Why didn’t you say so? I can smile if you want me to,” he said, demonstrating.

“You smiled like you meant it,” Haru amended. “It’s different.”

Makoto dropped his gaze, his stomach fluttering with some combination of pleasure and embarrassment. He spent a lot of time smiling, maybe most of the time, but Haru was right – not all of his smiles meant the same thing. Many of them didn’t mean much at all. He took a sip of his beer, just to give the blush a moment to fade from his cheeks. “You’re very observant,” he said finally.

“I spend a lot of time watching people,” Haru said. “Some of them are easier to read than others.”

“What about me?” He heard himself asking, faster than he could stop to consider whether he wanted to know the answer.

“Easier than some.”

“How so?” Makoto asked, feeling suddenly and uncomfortably aware of every inch of his skin.

Haru set his charcoal down, sitting back in his chair and regarding Makoto with a level gaze, “You don’t realize you’re doing it, do you?”

Makoto blinked. “Doing what?”

Haru gave a small nod of his head, and Makoto followed his eyes to the beer he was still holding. Since he’d sat down, he’d peeled the label completely off and had been absently picking at the lingering bits of paper and adhesive still stuck to the bottle. He frowned, reaching out to set the bottle down on one of the nearby stools, then set the wadded up wrapper down next to it so he wouldn’t be tempted to twist and tear it. “Nervous habit,” he said, scraping a nail against a sticky spot on the pad of his thumb.

“Anything I can do to help you relax?”

“Do you have a sedative?” Makoto asked, then when Haru’s eyebrows twitched up, he hastily added, “That was a joke.” He shook his head, “I think I’m just not used to being looked at.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Haru said.

Makoto tilted his head, curious, “What do you mean?”

“Maybe you don’t notice it,” Haru said, glancing back down at his sketchpad, and… was he blushing? “but I think people look at you more than you realize.”

Makoto laughed, running his hand back through his hair, “You sound like Nagisa.”

Haru snorted, “That’s not something I ever thought anyone would say to me.”

“Sorry,” Makoto said, smiling sheepishly, “I just mean, he makes a game out of saying stuff like that to embarrass me. Pointing out customers who are ‘totally hot for me,’ acting like I’m some sort of irresistible beefcake or something.”

“You sure he’s joking?”

“I’m nothing special,” Makoto said.

Haru let out a little snort, then shook his head, “You used to be a dancer, though, right? Seems like that would get you used to people looking at you.”

Makoto groaned, putting his face in his hands, “God, of course he told you that. Yes, I was, but it was short lived, and I was basically dying of embarrassment the entire time.”

“There’s got to be a story there.”

“It’s sort of ridiculous.”

“Try me,” Haru said.

Makoto shifted on his seat, trying to get comfortable under the weight of Haru’s gaze. “So, there was this cat…”

Haru arched an eyebrow, “Okay, that was not what I was expecting.”

Makoto waved his hands, “I told you, it’s ridiculous. Anyway, she’s not really _my_ cat, or she wasn’t, just a friendly stray that lived near my apartment. I would feed her, and she would come in and stay sometimes when the weather was bad, but she would always leave again, you know?” Haru nodded, eyes still watching him but his hands moving again on the paper. “Anyway one day I was walking home and I found her by the side of the road. She’d gotten hit by something and was really badly hurt, and I… Well, I picked her up, and I got on the train and I took her to a vet.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed, “She needed two surgeries and was at the clinic for almost a week. I drained my savings and maxed out my credit cards to pay for it all because I couldn’t stand the thought of just letting her die, but then suddenly I was thousands of dollars in debt and maybe two weeks away from having to pay my rent. I didn’t have a job at the time, either, so I went around just frantically trying to find work anywhere that would take me so I wouldn’t have to go to my parents for money. Anyway, I’d just put in an application at this coffee shop, and I must have looked awful and desperate because this woman bought me a cup of cocoa and asked me to sit with her. She asked me if I needed a job, and I just spilled my guts, told her everything, and she said, if I was willing to do it, I could start working for her that night.”

“Matsuoka-san?”

Makoto nodded, hiding his face in his hands, “I still can’t believe I agreed to it. I had no idea what I was doing - I didn’t even know how to dance - but I was so desperate for a job. I wound up working for a week as a waiter while I learned the routines, and then was on stage for a couple months while I paid off my debt.”

“Then you switched to working as a bouncer?”

“Yeah, the second I could afford to, though honestly I don’t think it suits me any better. I’m not, ah, much of a tough guy. Not like Sousuke or some of the others.” He shook his head, “But by the time I’d dug myself out of the hole, I was used to the schedule and had made friends with a lot of the guys, and Gou-san is a genuinely good boss. Working security doesn’t pay quite as well as the dancing did, but it’s nice to have the pocket money, and I don’t have to take my clothes off in front of people every night anymore, which I think is a fair trade.”

“I hear the club has company health insurance.”

Makoto laughed, “Yeah, I have a _dental plan_ , if you can believe it.”

Haru quirked an eyebrow, “Where do I sign up?”

It was obviously a joke, but… “Pretty sure if Gou-san laid eyes on you, you’d blink and an application would appear in your hands.”

“You think I’d look good in a sailor suit?” Haru said, lips twitching up into a small smirk.

“I think people would pay to see you get out of one,” Makoto said, then promptly clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes widening in horror at his own words. “I’m sorry, I-”

But Haru’s eyes were sparkling with amusement, “It’s fine. Good to know I have a potential career in semi-public nudity if the parlor ever goes belly up.” Makoto covered his face with his hands, flushed with embarrassment but laughing. After a moment, Haru said, “You didn’t finish your story.”

“Pardon?” Makoto asked, glancing up at him.

“You never said what happened to the cat.”

“Oh,” Makoto said, surprised and pleased that Haru had bothered to ask. “She made a full recovery. Well, except for her wanderlust, I suppose. She’s stayed with me ever since.”

“I’m glad. Having a pet get sick or hurt is awful.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” Makoto said, sobering.

“One of our cats got really sick a few weeks ago,” Haru said. “It turns out the idiot got into one of our neighbors’ flowerbeds and basically poisoned himself gorging on their plants. He’s fine now, but for a while…” he shrugged, “I’m sure you know the feeling.”

Makoto nodded. “I’m glad he’s okay. How many cats do you have?”

“Two of them. Rei’s cat – the idiot – is a coward, so you probably won’t see him, but I’m surprised Saba hasn’t put in an appearance,” Haru said, glancing up from his sketchbook and looking around the room. After a moment, he turned toward the door and made loud kissy noises and pitched his voice up, calling out, “Hey baby, where are you?”

He was answered by a small, distant, slightly squeaky meow.

“C’mere, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Makoto raised his eyebrows, but was even more surprised when he heard a thump and, a moment later, a tiny, sleek little black cat appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, she’s precious,” Makoto said, slipping down off his chair and holding out a hand towards her. The cat trotted over, sniffing his fingers before rubbing her cheek against his hand. “Aren’t you a sweetheart,” he cooed, gently stroking her chin. “I didn’t know you could teach a cat to come when you call them like that.”

“It helps if you bribe them with food,” Haru said, and Makoto laughed.

“Is she young or just small?” he asked, gently stroking the cat’s sleek black fur.

“Dainty,” Haru said. “Both our cats are rescues, and I think she was probably underfed as a kitten.”

Makoto nodded, “Umi – my cat – is a bitty little thing, too. She’s all white, though.”

“Why ‘Umi’?”

“She has blue eyes,” Makoto said. “They remind me of the ocean.”

“I like that,” Haru said. “I just call Saba Saba because her breath smells like fish.”

Makoto barked out a surprised laugh. “Do you have stinky breath?” he asked the cat, affectionately rubbing her cheeks. “You’re beautiful, though, aren’t you baby? Yes you are.”

“You can pick her up,” Haru said. “She loves being held and sitting in laps.”

“Is that true?” Makoto asked, even as he lifted her up and scooped her into his arms. “You said you call her Saba. Is that not her name?”

“If you ask Rei, he’d say her name is Claudette,” Haru said, making it clear what he thought of the name with a slow roll of his eyes. “But she answers to Saba.”

“That have anything to do with the food bribery?” Makoto asked, gently stroking the tiny cat’s chin. “Or the cat breath, for that matter?”

Haru shrugged. “I prefer to think it’s because she has good taste.”

Makoto laughed, sitting down in the big purple chair he’d been eying earlier. As soon as he did, the cat practically melted into his lap, curling up and immediately starting to purr. “Goodness,” Makoto said, reaching up to stroke her back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat so calm around a new person.”

“She’s like a dog,” Haru said, swiveling his chair around to face Makoto and kicking his feet up on a nearby stool. “Totally laid back, friendly to everyone. She even likes baths.”

“Really?”

“Mm. She’ll actually get into the bathtub with me if I forget to lock her out.”

“Do you do that?” Makoto cooed down at the cat. He was surprised when he was answered with an affirmative-sounding meow.

“She’s also quite the conversationalist,” Haru said.

“I see that,” he said, settling back in his chair and continuing to run his hand down along the cat’s back. After a moment, he murmured, “My god, is she already asleep?”

Haru puffed out an amused little laugh, “Probably. If you aren’t careful, she’ll keep you there for hours.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, honestly,” Makoto mused, absently scritching the cat’s back. “This is my idea of a fun night out.”

“You and me both,” Haru said. “Maybe a book and a cup of tea.”

“Mm, that sounds lovely.”

“I could make you some.”

Makoto waved him off, “No, don’t trouble yourself. Besides, if you get up and go to the kitchen, I suspect she’d abandon me, too.”

“Quick to love, but so fickle,” Haru said, settling back into his chair.

“Cats.”

“Cats,” Haru agreed. After a moment, he added, “If I’d known that was all it’d take to get you to relax, I would have called in the reinforcements sooner.”

Makoto laughed, “Well, now you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Oh?”

“You know my weakness, but I don’t know yours.”

“I’m a sucker for a nice smile,” Haru said, glancing up from his sketchbook.

Makoto smiled despite himself, “Oh?”

Haru gave an affirmative little hum. “I have a soft spot for pretty eyes, too.”

This time, Makoto laughed. “I can never quite tell if you’re being serious or teasing me.”

“Can’t it be both?”

“That doesn’t seem like a very good way to get to know someone,” Makoto said, his tone light and playful.

“No?” Haru asked. Makoto shook his head. “Any suggestions for improvement?”

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Makoto said, lips curled into a sly smile. “But we can start small. What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

* * *

They spent the next few hours trading questions and stories, Haru drawing the whole time and Saba sleeping peacefully in Makoto’s lap.

Eventually, they heard a clatter coming from the front of the house, accompanied by Nagisa’s voice, “Come oooon Rei-chan, if we don’t get started, we won’t have time to eat.” There was a rustle of plastic bags, a muffled slam, and then Nagisa called out, “Haru-chan, we’re back! Don’t be naked!”

Makoto looked a question at Haru, but Haru just shook his head and called back, “Makoto’s here. We’re in the studio.”

A moment later, Nagisa appeared in the doorway, “Mako-chan! You’re on the early shift tonight, too, right? You should stay for dinner! Rei-chan and I are making lasagna!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Pfft, if you _don’t_ stay, there’ll be leftovers for, like, a week,” Nagisa said.

Nagisa didn’t wait for an answer before disappearing from the doorway, and Makoto turned back to Haru, shaking his head, “I can never get over the way he does that.”

“Does what?”

“Just… stakes out a place in peoples lives.”

Haru snorted, “You’re telling me. He’s practically moved in already.”

“Yeah, the first time he came to my apartment, he rearranged all my furniture.” Makoto chewed his lip thoughtfully, then leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice, “But they’ve only been dating for, like, two weeks, right?”

“Three weeks tomorrow,” Haru said dryly, like it was an oft-repeated statistic. “Honestly, though, I’ve never seen Rei so crazy about anyone.”

“Nagisa, either,” Makoto admitted, “though I suppose haven’t known him nearly as long.”

“Let’s go see if they need any help?” Haru asked. Makoto glanced down at the cat in his lap, and Haru snapped his fingers. “Saba, dinner?”

That was all it took – the cat, who had been solidly asleep just a moment before, arched her back, stretched out, and hopped delicately down to the floor and led them back to the kitchen. Haru stopped Makoto just outside the doorway, though, putting a hand on his arm and drawing him back against the wall. “They really are disgustingly cute, though,” he whispered. “Look. Thirty seconds tops before they do something grossly adorable.”

Makoto hesitated for a moment, but when Haru peeped around the doorway, he found himself unable to resist the urge to do the same. Rei and Nagisa were crowded around the stove, Nagisa dumping ingredients into one of several large pots while Rei read off the recipe, “Then you add a tablespoon of – agh!! What are you doing?! Why aren’t you measuring?!”

“Rei-chan,” Nagisa said calmly, “I know how to make lasagna.”

“But-!”

“Why don’t you grate the cheese while I finish making the sauce?” Nagisa said, turning Rei around and pushing him gently toward the pile of plastic bags on the counter.

Rei sighed, but started digging around in one of the grocery bags. After a moment, he pulled out a plastic container, “This cheese?”

“Hm? Oh, no, the burrata is for the salad,” Nagisa said, plucking the container out of his hands.

“What’s a burrata?”

“You’ve never had it?” Nagisa asked, surprised. “Here. It’s like mozzarella but _magic_.” Nagisa popped open the plastic container, pulled out a small ball of cheese, and held it up to Rei’s lips.

Rei leaned in, taking a little bite, then put a hand to his mouth, surprised, “Oh! It’s creamy.”

“You like it?” Nagisa asked, leaning back against the counter and smiling wickedly, rubbing the smooth surface of the cheese against his lower lip.

“Mm, gimmie,” Rei said, moving in close to chase after the cheese, which only brought him close enough for Nagisa to steal a kiss before feeding it to him.

Haru nudged Makoto in the ribs with his elbow, rolling his eyes dramatically at the sound of more kissing noises and Nagisa giggling. “Like clockwork.” Makoto put a hand to his mouth, covering a laugh, but Haru strode past him into the kitchen. “Hey, we just wrapped up,” he said. “Anything we can do to help?”

Rei took a step back from Nagisa, clearing his throat, “Uhm, I’m not sure. Nagisa-kun?”

Nagisa licked the last little bit of cheese off his thumb, his eyes on Rei. “I think we’ve got it,” he said as Haru slipped past them to retrieve a can of fish from one of the cabinets. When Makoto followed Haru into the kitchen, though, Nagisa gave him an appraising glance, “Actually, I was going to make some breadsticks or something, but I don’t think they’ll have time to rise if I do the lasagna first.”

“Oh, I can do breadsticks,” Makoto said, automatically rolling up his sleeves, “You have flour and yeast?”

Nagisa glanced at Rei, who said, “Yeah. What else do you need?”

Makoto closed his eyes, rifling through his memory as Haru ducked past him, heading for the kitchen table. “Uhm, butter, sugar, salt, and warm water. And could you cut up some extra garlic for me?”

“Sure thing, Mako-chan!” Nagisa said, turning back to his cutting board. Rei moved around the kitchen, gathering up the items Makoto had asked for, along with bowls and measuring cups and spoons. Once he had everything he needed, Makoto relocated to the kitchen table, setting everything down across from where Haru was sitting. Saba was perched delicately in Haru’s lap, and he was plucking small pieces of fish out of the can and feeding them to her by hand.

“You weren’t kidding about the food bribery,” Makoto said.

“She’s spoiled,” Haru admitted, but there was fondness in his voice.

“It’s sweet,” Makoto said, spreading out the bowls and opening up the bag of flour.

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook,” Haru remarked, feeding Saba the last piece of fish and letting her lick his fingers clean.

“I can’t,” Makoto said, “not to save my life. But my parents own a bakery, so bread I can do.”

“No kidding?”

Makoto nodded, measuring yeast out into a bowl of warm water, “I used to get up before school every morning to help out around the shop. We made most of the dough in big industrial mixers, but we hand-formed all the loaves.” He glanced up, smiling at Haru, “I don’t do it much anymore, but the smell of yeast and fresh baked bread always reminds me of home.”

“Would you mind if I went and got my sketch pad again?” Haru asked.

“Not at all,” Makoto said, vaguely wondering why he would mind; it wasn’t like sitting watching him was going to be very exciting, so Haru might as well have something to do. Haru took him at his word, lifting Saba out of his lap and setting her on the floor before heading out of the kitchen and back towards his studio.

Makoto let himself fall into the familiar ritual of measuring and mixing, Rei and Nagisa’s gentle bickering a surprisingly pleasant white noise in the background. They really did seem like they’d known each other much longer than they had, trading tasks and coordinating their cooking with an ease that felt a lot more practiced than it possibly could have been.

By the time Haru got back with his art supplies, Makoto’s yeast had bloomed, and he started mixing all the ingredients together while Haru spread out on the table across from him. “Watch the flour,” Makoto said, nodding minutely at Haru’s sketchbook. Haru readjusted his position to get his supplies out of the way, and wound up sitting with his back against the wall and his feet up on the chair next to him, sketch book propped against his knees, pencil moving busily against the paper.

As soon as the dough came together, Makoto turned it out onto the large wooden cutting board Rei had given him. He dusted the surface with flour, passing the dough between his hands before pressing it down and starting to knead it. He’d done this enough times for the motions of his hands to be almost automatic, but it had been a long time since he’d felt the slight stickiness of wet dough against his palms, and he found himself relishing the way it turned supple and smooth and springy beneath his attention. Before he knew it, he’d already portioned off and shaped almost all of the dough, and he realized he’d hardly said a word to Haru. “So,” he ventured as he finished lining the last of the breadsticks up on a sheet pan, “what are you drawing now?”

Haru glanced up, “What do you mean?”

“I’m being poor company,” Makoto said apologetically, gesturing toward Haru’s notebook with one flour-covered hand, “but I was wondering what you’re working on.”

Haru met his question with a solid, unblinking stare. Just when Makoto started to squirm under the scrutiny, Haru said, “You really can’t guess?”

Makoto glanced around the cluttered table, then looked vaguely in the direction Haru was facing before shrugging, “Still life?”

Haru raised his eyebrows. “Makoto,” he said, holding up his notebook and turning it so he could see, “I’ve been drawing _you_.”

And he most certainly had: the page facing him was covered in sketches of his hands – mixing flour in the bowl, working the dough on the board, rolling and shaping the breadsticks. They were drawn with different levels of detail – some hasty and rough, others surprisingly polished considering that his hands had been in motion the whole time. There was also one slightly larger sketch of his face, eyes downturned, a small smudge of flour on his cheek.

Makoto reached up and touched the powder on his face he hadn’t realized was there, the warm rush of embarrassment turning his cheeks pink and making his ears heat up. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

“You’re making it worse,” Haru said, pushing up off his seat and reaching to catch Makoto’s wrist, drawing his flour-covered hand away from his face. “Here,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers lightly against Makoto’s cheek, dusting away the flour. “And there’s nothing to be sorry for,” he added, sitting back down. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I thought you knew what I was doing.”

“I- ah, it’s fine,” Makoto said, and he could _feel_ his blush darkening. He ducked his head, absently draping a tea towel over the finished breadsticks. “I just, uhm-”

“He hasn’t been on a date in at least seven months,” Nagisa chimed in from the other side of the kitchen.

Makoto whipped around, his face burning, “Nagisa!”

“What? It’s true!” Nagisa said, licking a bit of pasta sauce off his fingertips. “It’s been so long, you probably don’t even realize you’re on a date right now.”

“Nagisa, this is n-” Makoto started to protest, then abruptly stopped himself. Was this a date? Neither of them had said so, and he’d been so delighted just for the opportunity to see Haru again at all that he hadn’t really thought any farther than that. But they _had_ sort of been flirting, so maybe…? The possibility, stated so plainly, made his heart do a funny thing in his chest. He turned back around to face Haru. “Is this a date?”

For a moment that felt like an eternity, Haru just gaped at him. Then he leaned to one side, looking past Makoto toward Rei, “I thought you said I was being too obvious.”

“Show him the rest of your sketches,” Rei said, not bothering to look up from the tomatoes he was slicing. “That should clear things up a little.”

Makoto glanced back toward Haru, not quite sure he was following the conversation. “What are we clearing up, exactly?” he asked. But Haru just flipped back a few pages in his sketchbook and held it out to him. Makoto wiped his hands off on a towel before taking the pad of paper and sitting down across from Haru. It took a moment for him to process what he was seeing, but when he did, his blush returned full force.

Some of the doodles were innocuous – captured gestures and poses, the kind of thing he’d been expecting. But many of them were almost intensely intimate – detailed renderings of his hands, his lips, his eyes, caught in different expressions and movements. And there were pages and pages like this, the drawings becoming larger and more fully realized as the afternoon had worn on and Makoto had relaxed and started sitting still. The most finished sketch was of him in the arm chair gazing obliquely off to one side, a soft smile pulling at his lips. This one he was tempted to touch, but he put his hand to his mouth instead. Haru had managed to capture something that cameras and mirrors rarely could, and Makoto was surprised to realize how different his own face looked when he was genuinely happy.

“You’re so talented,” he found himself saying, though the words were inadequate to what he was feeling. “I don’t suppose…” he started, then, “Would you make me a copy of this?”

He turned the sketchbook so Haru could see the drawing he meant, but Haru was already agreeing, “You can keep it if you like it. I’ll trim the edges and fix it so it won’t smudge.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly...” he protested, but his heart wasn’t in it, and his eyes wandered back to the drawing. “You’d really let me have it?”

“If you like it, it’s yours,” Haru said.

“I like it a lot,” Makoto said. After a moment, he glanced up from the drawing and looked across the table, “You’re sure you don’t need to keep the original?”

Haru let out a soft little chuckle, “It’s not like it’s for an assignment. I’m not in school anymore. When I draw for myself, it’s because I want to.” He held out his hand for the notebook and Makoto passed it back to him. “Come on,” he said, pushing to his feet, “We can go clean it up right now.”

Makoto followed him back into the studio, but hesitated for a moment just inside the doorway before pulling the door shut behind them. It felt strange to do it, almost scandalous, enough so that he almost opened the door again, but he just _knew_ that if he left it open, Nagisa would appear in the doorway at the worst possible moment. “You said you draw because you want to,” he ventured. “Does that mean you specifically wanted to draw me?”

Haru glanced up from where he’d spread his sketchbook out on one of the draft tables, then turned to face him, “Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

Haru crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the table, “Because you’re beautiful.”

Makoto blushed, “I’m not-”

“You are,” Haru said, his voice surprisingly firm. “The second I laid eyes on you, I knew I was going to burn through a sketchbook trying to capture your smile.” Makoto started to protest, but Haru didn’t give him the chance. “I’m serious. Yamazaki is lucky he didn’t wind up with a tattoo of your face on his shoulder.”

Makoto laughed, “Now I _know_ you’re teasing me.”

“I’m not,” Haru said, “and I have a dozen rough sketches to prove it, if you don’t believe me.”

“You’re serious,” Makoto said, surprised to realize it was true. After a moment, he shook his head, “Okay wait. I probably sound like an idiot asking this, but I need you to spell it out for me. Is this a date, or were you just looking for a model?”

“Full disclosure?” Haru asked.

Makoto nodded, “Please.”

“I like you. I had fun the other day, and I wanted to see you again. You seemed interested in my art, so I gave you a reason to call me.”

Makoto couldn’t quite suppress his smile, “You know, you could have just asked me out.”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes,” Haru said, ducking his head.

Makoto laughed, “I can’t imagine anyone ever saying no to you.”

Haru looked up, his brow knitted in confusion, “Wait, what?”

“Haru, you could have asked me to do _anything_ and I would have said yes. You are so far out of my league, I’m still having trouble believing you would-”

And then suddenly Haru had closed the space between them and curled his hands lightly in Makoto’s shirt, and Makoto’s words caught in his throat. “Makoto,” he said, tipping his chin up to look him in the eyes.

It was both a reprimand and a request, and that was all the permission Makoto needed. He brushed his fingers gently through Haru’s hair and leaned down over him, pressing their lips together. Haru’s lips were so, so soft, and even though he’d only intended to kiss him once, Makoto found himself leaning in again, breathing a contented sigh when Haru’s hands tightened on his shirt and he went up on his toes, meeting him half way. It was only with him so close that Makoto realized how small Haru was. Even just a few feet apart, he was larger than life, radiant and stunning, but pressed near enough to catch the faint scent of his shampoo, Haru seemed almost delicate, petite in a way that made Makoto want to hold him close. He settled for pressing his hands to Haru’s back, running his palms slowly down over his shoulder blades, his ribs, his trim waist before letting them settle on the curve of his hips.

When Haru drew back, his eyes had darkened to the inky blue of twilight, “You didn’t just come to be polite?”

Makoto breathed out a laugh, giving a small shake of his head, “No. I was ecstatic that you gave me an excuse to see you again.”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

“We’re about to eat,” Makoto said, chuckling.

“Next week, then. After the twins leave.”

Makoto smiled, “I’d like that.”

“Can I call it a date?” Haru asked, and by the time Makoto realized he was being teased, Haru had already pulled him down into another kiss, cutting off his protest.

* * *

By the time Nagisa came to collect them for dinner, they’d settled back into the big purple arm chair, Makoto leaned back into the plush cushions, Haru perched comfortably in his lap. Leaning down over him, Haru defied Makoto’s instinct to think of him as delicate, and Makoto was more than content to let him, enjoying the insistent, greedy way Haru kissed him. Makoto returned the favor by letting his hands wander, kneading Haru’s broad, muscular shoulders, smoothing his palms over his lean thighs, caressing the dip at the small of his back.

It was easy enough to forget where they were until there was a rapid-fire, two-fisted tapping at the door, followed by, “Haru-chan, Mako-chan, dinner’s ready!”

Makoto’s shoulders tensed, but Haru just leaned back and called out, “Be there in a minute.”

Makoto put his hand on Haru’s hip to steady him, and he couldn’t help but grin when he realized how absolutely ravaged Haru looked, his lips plump and pink and swollen, his hair a little wild and his shirt rumpled and riding up on one hip. “This is a good look for you,” Makoto said, and he was surprised at the sultry sound of his own voice.

Haru smirked, reaching forward to gently tame Makoto’s hair, “You should see yourself.”

“That bad?”

“Well, at least I didn’t cover you in hickeys,” Haru said, straightening Makoto’s collar and smoothing his hands down his chest.

“Maybe next time,” Makoto said, and if he was surprised by his own boldness, he was more surprised when Haru let out a startled little giggle. The sound of his real laugh was so sweet and pure that it left Makoto dumbstruck, breath caught in his throat, like he’d stolen a glimpse of a mythical creature. When Haru’s laughter started to subside, Makoto said, “Think they’d notice if we skipped dinner?”

“We could sneak out the window,” Haru said, and he didn’t sound like he was joking.

Makoto glanced over at the window, “We’re on the third floor.”

“What would you rather face,” Haru asked, “a three story drop, or Nagisa after we’ve been in here making out for an hour?”

Makoto pressed his hands to his face and laughed, “Oh god. When you put it that way…”

But then Haru’s weight disappeared from his lap, and Makoto looked up in time to see him straightening his shirt, “Come on. If they try to tease us, I have _plenty_ of material to use against them, and Nagisa’s a pretty good cook.”

Makoto let Haru give him a hand up out of the chair (which was sinfully comfortable), and said, “You’re a braver man than I am.”

Haru snorted, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” But even though he said it as a joke, Makoto couldn’t help but feel like it sounded true, and he only tugged his shirt straight once more before following Haru back to the kitchen.

* * *

Other than a few knowing looks and maybe a mild jab or three, dinner was pleasant and fairly uneventful, the conversation peppered with random facts about Victorian architecture that made Makoto snicker every time, much to Rei’s bewilderment. Nagisa’s lasagna was… rustic looking, but absolutely delicious, Makoto’s breadsticks had turned out perfectly, and Rei (who had ignored Nagisa’s instruction to “just dump everything in a salad bowl”) had prepared them each a photo-worthy plate of heirloom tomatoes, burrata, and basil, lightly drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

By the time they all finished cleaning up the kitchen, three of them were in danger of being late to work. “You should come with us, Haru-chan,” Nagisa said, retrieving his coat from a hook by the big window in the kitchen, “Come check out Rei-chan’s new digs.”

“According to Rei, I’ve already seen the best the place has to offer.”

“Oh Haru-chan,” Nagisa said, like it was a tragedy, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” His flirty wink and conspicuous butt-slap were sort of ruined when Rei tugged a beanie onto Nagisa’s head and down over his eyes.

“Put your boots on, or we’re going to be late,” Rei scolded. Nagisa huffed, pushing the hat up out of his eyes, but did as he was told. “You’re welcome to come, of course,” he said to Haru, “and it shouldn’t be too busy tonight.”

Haru waved him off, “How will you gossip about me if I’m there?”

“That sounds like permission to me,” Nagisa said, flashing him another wink before starting to climb out the window.

Makoto yelped, lunging forward and grabbing Nagisa by the back of his coat, “What-!?”

“That’s our back door,” Haru said, and when Makoto had a moment to process the fact that Nagisa was not about to leap to his death, he realized that there was a narrow, rickety looking catwalk running beneath the window and remembered the spindly, hazardous looking stairs he’d seen winding their way up the outside of the building.

“Uh,” he said over the sound of his internal screaming.

“I’ll lead you back out the front,” Haru said.

“Right,” he said, watching with thinly-veiled horror as Rei followed Nagisa out the window and down the stairs. Once they were out of sight, he turned back to Haru, “Are they insane?”

“The stairs are sturdier than they look,” Haru said, quite pragmatically, “and they lead right down to our parking spaces.”

“I think I’d rather take the scenic route.”

Haru let out a little scoff, then nodded back towards the living room, “C’mon, I don’t want to make you late.”

Once Makoto had his coat and shoes on, Haru led him back through the building – though Makoto was pretty sure they went a different route than the way he’d come in – then out the front door and across the street to his car. Haru stopped alongside the car, shoving his hands in his pockets, and Makoto moved to stand between him and the wind, since Haru hadn’t bothered to put on a jacket. “Let me know when you’re free?” Haru asked.

“I will,” Makoto said, then made a thoughtful sound, “I could probably do lunch sooner than dinner, because of work. Oh, and there’s this little cat cafe on the other side of town I think you’d love.”

“That sounds perfect,” Haru said. “Next week?”

“Soon.” He tilted his head to one side, smiling, “Thank you for having me.”

Haru huffed out a little laugh, “My pleasure.”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning in a little closer, “I wouldn’t have had the guts to ask you out myself, so I’m really glad you did.”

Haru curled his hand in Makoto’s collar, pulling himself up to press a soft kiss to his lips and murmuring quietly, “Me too.”

“Mm. Oh, I meant to say, if you ever do want to come to the club, ask for me at the door. I can probably get you in for free.”

“Maybe if you start dancing again,” Haru said, and Makoto laughed.

“You should get inside before you freeze to death.”

Haru nodded, “And I should let you get to work.” He took a step back, then stopped, “Shit, I forgot to give you that sketch.” 

“Next time,” Makoto said, leaning in to give him one last kiss.

Haru smiled, warm and genuine, “Next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~P.S. This one shot was also partially a request fulfillment for *someone* who wanted to know why Makoto stopped dancing. I'm *pretty sure* I remember who it was, but I can't find the original ask (probably because the tumblr messaging system is the WORST), and I don't want to call out the wrong person in case I'm mistaken. So, if it was you, please let me know so I can shamelessly plaster your name right *here*!~~ THANK YOU KONEKAT YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND LOVELY AND THIS WAS A GREAT IDEA!
> 
> theshannonlewis on twitter and tumblr, though I obviously have an ironclad grasp of the tumblr messaging system -_-

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me about swim boys! theshannonlewis on twitter and tumblr


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